


Like Dancers

by TypingMonkey (purty64)



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: F/F, F/M, Implied Fix-It, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, is this a fix it fic? maybe. is it enough to tag? probably not, listen everything would have been FINE if they had just been like chill with polyamory, oh duh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:20:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23043142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purty64/pseuds/TypingMonkey
Summary: They are in loveWho?They all are
Relationships: Anatole Vasilyevich Kuragin/Natalya "Natasha" Ilyinichna Rostova, Andrei Nikolayevich Bolkonsky/Natalya "Natasha" Ilyinichna Rostova, Elena "Hélène" Vasilyevna Kuragina/Natalya "Natasha" Ilyinichna Rostova, Fyodor "Fedya" Ivanovich Dolokhov/Anatole Vasilyevich Kuragin, Pyotr "Pierre" Kirillovich Bezukhov/Andrei Nikolayevich Bolkonsky, Pyotr "Pierre" Kirillovich Bezukhov/Natalya "Natasha" Ilyinichna Rostova, yea - Relationship
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19





	Like Dancers

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhhhhhhh yea I got nothing have fun with this!
> 
> ~~if anyone's out of character blame it on the poetry~~

Anatole looks across the ballroom, gaze tripping once again on the girl across the crowd. _I must have her,_ he thinks. _I must, I must._

He feels lips press against his cheek, and he smiles. _Incredible._ He grabs Dolakhov's hand, bringing it to his mouth and kissing the palm. _Incredible._

* * *

 _You are a vision_ Helene murmurs later that night, as Natasha giggles and blushes in the dark. Running her hands through the dark, _dark_ hair of the girl beside her, she whispers _You are the most beautiful girl in Moscow. A sight to behold, simply a wonder._ She leans in and kisses her cheek as Natasha ducks her head. _Lovely,_ she thinks, smiling. _Lovely,_ as she runs her hands over the girls arms. _Lovely._

* * *

A knock at the door sends Pierre to his feet, but a laugh from the hall stops him dead in his tracks.

 _Andrey._

But...

The laugh comes again, and he is sure. He straightens his coat, smooths his hair, and walks into the light.

* * *

Pierre and Helene are married, but not in love. Helene is is love with Natasha, who is engaged to Andrey. They _are_ in love. Natasha is also in love with Anatole, who loves her in return, who again loves Dolakhov. Dolakhov is devoted to Anatole, and knows that he is loved in return, no matter how many others share his place.

Pierre is in love with Natasha, but hasn't told her yet. He is in love with Andrey, and has not yet told him, either. He sits, in misery, watching his wife and friends and lovers-to-be go out and drink and make love and _live_ , while he rots in the dark. They will change this.

* * *

Remember. Dolakhov for Anatole, who is for Natasha, who is for Helene and Pierre and Andrey, who are for each other, a little. They try to be, anyway. An intricate dance, around and around, through each other and near each other, round and round and round. Maybe they'll be found out, some day. Maybe they won't. For now, they _dance._

* * *

Years later, a knock at the door. Again, Pierre jumps, but the cadence is different, and he answers it himself.

"Natasha?" She smiles at him. "And-" his breath catches. Oh, they're here, they are _here,_ and at so late an hour what could they want? 

~~_vodka and wine are dangerous-_~~   
~~_Keep drinkin old man-!_~~

They set foot on the hardwood floors as he steps aside, letting them out of the dark and underneath the warm lights on his home, the ones he never sees anymore. They look at each other and smile at him and he _aches_ for how beautiful they are, together, apart, anywhere and everywhere, the finest match in Russia and he, _wants-_

Andrey steps forward, still smiling at him, places his hand on the juncture between his shoulder and his neck, under the neckline of his undershirt (Pierre not having bothered getting dressed that day. It wasn't as though anyone would see him). Natasha steps around, tucking her hands beneath his arm, still, still smiling at him. 

_I'm sorry, I don't-_

_It's alright, Pierre._ She rests her head on his shoulder, as Andrey slides his hand higher. _We... want to talk to you._ Andrey pulls his head forward and rests his forehead against his own as Natasha kisses him on the cheek, and any protest or interjection he may have had stutters out. They are beautiful. and he _wants._ They retire to the study, and don't come out until lunch.

* * *

Imagine, a dance hall. Again, Natasha and Anatole and Andrey and Helene and Dolakhov spinning and spinning, while Pierre sits on the side. Their cards are full, while he neglected to ask, sure it'd be empty whether he asked or not. Imagine, the forms of Natasha and Andrey swirling past, grasping his hands, pulling him up and into their dance, around and around. He stumbles. Of course he stumbles. But he dances, too.

Like planets, like their own personal solar system, they all dance.

**Author's Note:**

> listen I only got the correct spelling of everyone's names when I went to put the tags in and I just can't be bothered to change it now  
> at least they're consistent
> 
> also also if there's any dumb spelling mistakes lmk cause I did NOT read this through, directly to ao3 it goes do not pass go do not beta read


End file.
